There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. To her intense disappointment, she discovered that all papers had been removed from desks and cupboards. "I don't think you could find in your heart to quarrel with any one, Winny; much less with a person whom I like so much as Jack Sheppard. " "Miscreants!" cried Sheppard, almost driven frantic by the violence of his emotions; "you're all in league with him. But, if I were in your place, I know what I'd do—" "What—what would you do?" asked Hogarth, eagerly. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside.
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